Brutality
by VicariouslyActed
Summary: There's a new killer on the block- and he might be one of the most insane people Will has ever observed- aside from the Ripper, of course. Okay. My petty attempt at doing a Hannibal Fanfic, featuring a sociopathic OC of mine! Be nice, please? But, if you happen to notice any typos- ANY TYPOS AT ALL- for the love of God tell me.
1. INTRO!

**UPDATE: Okay. Now that I've started on the second chapter, I _will_ be changing the rating to M as needed. It's whatever at this point. Have fun! **

_ I freeze in my tracks. The office is empty, and I have no witnesses- it is dark outside. After-hours. I have come here in hopes of speaking with someone useful, but have only managed to drive the middle-aged stout man behind the desk into calling me a name under his breath. I can't quite hear it, but I know it is there- I can feel it within the air. That is why I am frozen where I stand. I turn slowly, barely containing my sudden rage at the unknowing and… incredibly rude… concierge. I place my hands behind my back, giving him a taut smile. It was more of a leer, really._

_ "Excuse me?" My words ring steadily through the air. I am on the verge of frenzy._

_ "I said…" The man begins- a haughty tone within his words- but I cut him off fitfully by slamming his head into the front desk, knocking him unconscious. I then proceed to stroll behind the desk, lifting the man from his chair by his hair, and dragging him to a wall on my far right. He is bleeding from his forehead, but it only makes me enjoy it more. I am in control. I then continue my work by propping him against the wall, making sure his torso was straight and erect before examining him closely. He looked very tired. Stressed, perhaps._

_ I do not care._

_ I walk away, searching calmly through the drawers of his desk, scattering papers and staples lazily about as I do so. I then find a pair of scissors. A perfect tool for what I was doing. I proceed to waltz back to this stranger that I have so dutifully incapacitated and stare at him kindly. I smile. I even think about what his name could be and who he might be related to. But, all of these thoughts dissipate as I slam the pointed blades of the scissors into his right temple, bringing on a fresh bout of blood to drip all over my hand, his clothes, and the nice carpet of this motel lobby. I do it again, this time to his left temple- the puncture wound is a little messy, considering I am not left handed, but it gets the job done. Less blood pours from the wound, leading me to believe the man was already dead or was dying from my first attack._

_ I continue to feel nothing._

_ With the scissors still embedded into his skull, I give it a sickening yank diagonal across his face, toward the ground, making a terrible cracking noise. This leaves a dark red slash across his features. I do the same to the other side, using the hole I had already developed. When I am done, I look at the bleeding 'X' the seemed to blanket the man's face. It looked perfect. The protruding bones and teeth really gave it an artistic quality. This is my work. My job._

_ My design._

Will had gasped back into reality, pulling himself into the world of the sane. He could feel the foreboding shadow this killer left- he could almost _feel_ heavy hands grasping his shoulders, forcing him to sit upright. His breath was escaping his lungs in violent bursts that refused to take any oxygen to his brain- he felt as if he were going to pass out. And, as if called upon by some devil, black dots began to dance across his already lightheaded vision. Jesus, this guy was _crazy_… almost as insane as the Ripper. The dark presence refused to leave Will's being for what seemed like hours.

It was only three minutes.

Jack Crawford, the man leading this investigation, and most of the investigations prior to this one, opened the door carefully to peek in on Will. When he saw his colleague struggling to even stand, he darted inside the room, steadying Will with an arm around his waist. He proceeded to position Will's right arm around his shoulders, letting the man rest all of his weight onto Jack. "Jesus Christ, Will… You can't let yourself get to this point!" Slowly, Jack escorted the younger empath into the parking lot of the motel where the murder investigation was taking place. Will had seemed to calm down a lot after they left the scene.

"Will. What the hell happened in there?" Jack left Will to stand on his own, and was ready for any waver the shorter man might make. "Have you even eaten or slept in the past three days?" Jack was serious, and he wanted a damn answer. William could tell.

"It's very hard to remember basic human needs when you're busy trying to discern who you really are…" Will said this grimly and without humor. He wasn't in the mood to play. The fainting spell had disappeared like a veil, leaving behind quite the inferno of a headache. All he really wanted to do was lay down and sleep… forever. "Listen, Jack- this guy… this guy is… he's very… Unstable." Will wanted to hurry up and explain everything to Jack so he could finally be allowed to leave. "He's quick to react- much more emotional than the Ripper, but within the same frame of mind. The victim- the victim was being rude… and our killer decided he had had enough." Will blinked rapidly, trying to think of other things that might be useful to Jack. "He's a big man. He was able to cut through the skull and jaw easily with… with scissors. He could _possibly_ be a drawer or painter… Steady hands, same frame of mind. This act- this act was his job. He wants to rid the word of people like our victim here…" Will closed his eyes, his brow creasing with the effort of thinking. "He took the murder weapon with him, having not planned to kill anyone, and leaving fingerprints on the handle of the weapon… But I know he used scissors… I know he did." Will licked his lips, finally relaxing his features and looking up at the center of Jack's forehead, giving opening for any questions.

Jack seemed agitated that Will would change the topic so suddenly, but he accepted the information from him nonetheless. "Is there an explanation for the absence of hairs? You said this wasn't premeditated- so he had to have been a little sloppier than this." Jack was searching Will's eyes for the answer- or something else. Will wasn't willing to find out. Eye contact bothered him.

"I-I don't know… a hat, maybe? A hat and light jacket? He didn't seem to like to expose his skin. He's a very self conscious male." Will was working through his mind the events that transpired here, trying to remember other things rather than the extreme anger and sudden calm that had been swimming through the killer's mind. "It would explain the very sudden and very violent response to our rude victim..."

"So, we're looking for a middle aged man…" Jack paused, searching Will's expression for an affirmation. Will gave only the slightest of nods. "With anger issues, a beanie, and a jacket?" Jack seemed skeptical.

Will's voice was sharp and sarcastic- annoyed, almost. "Yeah, Jack. We are. No matter how unconventional." Will immediately regretted snapping at his boss, but Jack didn't seem to notice. He looked to be lost in thought.

"A thirty year old man who still wears beanies? Jesus…" Jack shook his head, placing his hands deep within his pockets and closing his eyes. "Will. This better not be a wild goose chase."

"When have I ever been wrong about it, Jack?" Will gave him a small smile, desperate to get away now. He wondered if his smile looked as forced as it felt.

* * *

As he twisted his key within the deadbolt, Will could hear the dogs begin to rustle about inside the house. One of them even gave out a territorial chuff in order to get a response out of the sudden intruder. But, the commotion lessened as Will opened the door and revealed himself to his pets. They all surrounded his legs as he walked in, sniffing out the new scents he had brought in from the outside world. He didn't touch them or acknowledge them- he never did when he walked in- instead, he continued on through the mess within his house, and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and sought after any leftovers he might have. Nothing. He decided to make himself a sandwich.

With peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth, and jelly threatening to fall off the edge of the luscious white bread, Will hastily made his way to his sorry-looking dining table that took up room in his kitchen. He had suddenly become ravenous in his wait for the sandwich to be done- his hands lifting the article of food to his mouth and taking another, ridiculously large bite out of the bread. This simple morsel of food tasted so damn _good_ after not eating for thirty-six hours. He continued to hork it down his esophagus, sputtering only once when the peanut butter felt too thick to swallow. His seven dogs watched him in anxious silence, panting, hoping to get just a taste of the magical food that their master was consuming. It was too bad, really- Will almost never gave his dogs table scraps. Unless, they were rib bones…and he hardly ever had ribs.

His peanut butter and jelly sandwich had left him distastefully unsatisfied, and he found himself thinking, _"If I could only cook…"_ Now, he regretted not watching his mother work in the kitchen when he was younger. As for Hannibal- Hannibal could coo- _ohmyGod._

He was late.

Okay, he hadn't missed the appointment entirely- it was five-thirty- but it took him an hour to get from Wolf Trap to Baltimore- for an appointment that was at 6. So… shit. Will was hurrying around the house, scavenging his shoes and a clean shirt within the mess of his living room and bedroom. He made it out the door in record time- five minutes. But, he still had a long way to go.

If there was anything he hated more than his little 'gift' (as Jack called it), it was being late for something. Okay, maybe he didn't hate it _that_ much, but it definitely didn't make him feel good. It made him anxious- if you're late, you get stared at and judged. Patronized. Questioned. He didn't enjoy human contact all that much- and for unwanted attention to be brought to him for any amount of time, it made him uncomfortable.

So, he was pulling full force, no games being played- speeding, weaving in and out of traffic, he even ran a stop sign or two. Unnoticed, but the law was broken nonetheless. Will's efforts for punctuality knew no bounds! And, they pulled through for him- he got to Hannibal's office at six on the dot. So, there would be no uncomfortable questions being asked (outside of the usual, anyway) about what Will was doing. Because he was doing nothing. And he found that sad and pathetic.

He got out of his car and huffed, breathing in the fresh smell of the wet air that surrounded his form. He couldn't quite explain it- but he was happy to be there. Hannibal made him feel a little better- a little more in touch with humanity. So, it wasn't hard to begin the short stroll up the designated pathway and knock on the thick, red door that separated him from Dr. Lecter, his psychiatrist.


	2. SOMETHING ELSE!

**HAH. Chapter 2 in the same night! Take THAT laziness!**

**Okay. I find this one a little sketchy right now- but it's midnight, and I need sleep.**

**I will definitely be revisiting this.**

* * *

Hannibal was a tall, clean cut, well kept man of stature. He possessed neat, smooth blond hair that was always combed away from his face- and it only added to this chaotic image that reminded Will of a painting he saw of Lucifer being cast into hell. Hannibal's eyes were a dark red- turning garnet at times when the lighting was right. It was a smooth color- much like tempered glass. Will found himself making unwavering eye contact with the doctor, despite how exposed he felt. It was like a battle between light and dark. Blue versus red. Classic rivalry, if not cliché. Dr. Lecter always seemed to untouchable, dressed in his dark suits that made him seem like that devil in the painting. It was as if he were ready for anything life threw at him- unlike Will, who was often left in an anxious mess after viewing the scene of a crime. That was something Will envied about Hannibal- the emotionless exterior that feigned humanity. It was probably Hannibal's greatest weapon. Especially for a psychiatrist.

"Good evening Will- I trust you had no problems arriving?" Hannibal could have been referring to anything- traffic, weather conditions- but he seemed to already know that Will had been in a rush. As if he could read the emotions under Will's skin like a book.

"No, not really…" He didn't feel like starting a conversation about his problems with punctuality. It seemed like a bad idea to get very close to the doctor.

"Hm. Please, have a seat." Hannibal didn't seem to like being dismissed. Jeez- was everyone just judging him today? Will forced himself not to grit his teeth, and slowly made his way over to the two chairs that faced each other. He felt stiff, as if he were wearing a prosthetic leg- even more so after turning to look at Hannibal and witness him practically _float_ across the carpet toward him. _Christ he felt so inferior…_

After sitting down, Hannibal crossed his legs, looking up at Will with the smallest of smiles on his face. The doctor had become accustomed to the anxious nature of Will- finally coming to terms with the fact that the man _simply could not sit still_. It was no longer awkward to have the shorter man stand while he was speaking to Hannibal. Dr. Lecter didn't mind. William remained still behind the leather seat, his hands splayed across the top of the chair in order to brace his weight. "So. I heard you visited another crime scene today..?" Hannibal prompted, patiently waiting to hear about any episode Will might have had.

"Ch. Yeah. Some sick bastard has cut an 'X' into the face of a motel concierge." There was that word again. _Concierge._ The killer's word, not his. "He was the closest thing to a copycat of the Chesapeake Ripper we've ever had- and this guy wasn't even trying." Will blinked hard, feeling the black, tarlike shadow of the killer standing right behind him. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the sound of hooves upon the ground; a chuff of breath, a shake of the head. He blinked again, trying to get the presence out of his mind without letting Hannibal notice.

Hannibal had, in fact, noticed- but only partially. He was still stuck on the word 'copycat'. Of course, Will hadn't noticed Hannibal's sudden distress. Copycat… imitation was the lowest form of flattery, you know. And Hannibal hated it. It was so incredibly…

"Rude." Will's voice spoke up like a light flickering on, snapping Hannibal out of his reverie. It was astounding, how much their two minds were in sync- Hannibal could never get over it. I mean, what were the odds that they could think exactly the same thing at exactly the same time? "Rude," Will's voice again, and Hannibal listened intently, very interested, now. "The concierge was being incredibly rude, and our killer had decided enough was enough…" Will's expression had remained hard, as if he were thinking about multiple things at once.

Hannibal knew the feeling. "So you're suggesting that our new killer is an actual copycat of the Chesapeake Ripper?" His voice- the soothing tenor, the mild tone- was impressively level. Acting skills worthy of an Oscar. The maroon irises, however- they seemed to glower; to glow with a barely contained ballistic rage. If there was ever chaos in a bottle, Hannibal was the spitting image of it.

"No- nonono." Will shook his head again, that same thought-filled expression on his features. "His mind… his mind was almost identical to the Ripper's…" Will reached up to massage his forehead with his thumb and index finger, his skin wrinkling around the areas where the pads of his fingers pressed. Hannibal observed this carefully, trying to calm his own mind down with the observation of another. "He hadn't even planned to kill the guy for Chrissake…"

"Listen, William, if our conversation is making you uncomfortable, we will move on to better, more relaxing things." Because Hannibal _really_ didn't want to discuss this right now; he could even lash out and take poor Will's heart for tomorrow's dinner. But, Hannibal didn't let his rage control him that way. "How have you been sleeping?"

Will let out a nervous chuckle, taking off his glasses and beginning to rub the lenses clean with the hem of his shirt. "Sleep has been…fleeting." The nightmares had progressed into his days- reoccurring images of gore and Hobbs and that _Godforsaken_ stag. He remained awake for most nights. It left him feeling zombie-like.

"And your eating habits?

"Inconsistent. I'm pretty sure I've lost weight." He could feel his stomach clench at the thought of food, and he figured he could stop by a Wendy's or something to get something to eat.

"Well. Did you eat anything today?"

"A PB&J. That's it." There was humor within Hannibal's eyes as he stared at Will, his lips pulling up just the slightest bit, as if feigning a smile.

"You are more than welcome to request my services as a chef, Mr. Graham." Hannibal's voice sounded on the verge of laughter, and the corners of his red eyes were crinkling as he gazed fondly at his friend. He knew full well that the extent of Will's cooking expertise was a grilled cheese sandwich- and even those were iffy. "Trying to make a routine for yourself should help relax your mind. Perhaps we could discuss some solutions." But, Hannibal was mostly thinking of one thing- and the word was flashing across his brain like a strobe light. _Copycat_.

* * *

After Will had gone for the evening, Hannibal was left alone. Today's session had revealed plenty of things- both good and bad. Good- Will had figured out a routine that could bring him back into the scheme of normal life (but Hannibal doubted it.) Bad- someone was out there, making a mockery of everything he stood for. He wanted to throw something.

But, he kept all of that carefully hidden- the 'person suit' Bedelia was talking about assuming its role. He wasn't feeling very hungry or murderous (surprising, I know), so he decided a stroll was the best thing for a mind that needed quiet.

The walk itself was peaceful- dark,

shadowy,

fraught with peril!

No, seriously- it was nice. The air was cool against the skin of his face, a slight breeze curling its fingers through his blond, silky hair. And, he didn't have to worry about creepy men coming to seize him. Because 1. He would eat their liver, and 2. He would eat their liver.

He continued to contemplate this new mystery man, his eyebrows drawn low over the (once again) garnet eyes in deep concentration. Will had said the man was _almost_ identical. Not completely. And, if Hannibal knew anything, this man wasn't out there trying to make himself known- he was trying to keep under the radar.

But the concierge had definitely set him off.

Hannibal was still within this frame of mind when someone large bumped into his shoulder, pushing the doctor backward a few steps. The form stopped, turning toward him and immediately reaching out to grasp Hannibal by the shoulders in order to steady him.

"Ah, Goddammit! I'm sorry! It's dark, and I wasn't looking…" He was rambling on and on about darkness and sight impairment, practically panicking, Hannibal could already tell. _High anxiety levels._ The thought ran smooth over his brain like an ice skater in the Olympics.

_Like Will._ Shut up brain, not now. "Oh, don't even worry." Hannibal gave a polite smile, straightening his coat. The man helped him out a bit by taking his palms off his shoulders. Now that Hannibal studied him a little closer, he thought about how a man could grow so impossibly tall. He had to be closer to seven feet than six. But, Hannibal wasn't going to say anything- it would be rude.

"Ah, Jesus- now I feel like an idiot…" He gave a slight smile, hesitating a bit before holding out a hand. Hannibal saw it as if he were contemplating whether or not it was appropriate. "I'm Elijah Evans. My friends call me Brutal. I hope I didn't break anything." Hannibal smiled back, genuinely I might add, and took the other's hand in his own. Elijah's palm enveloped Hannibal's entirely.

"Hannibal Lecter. It's a pleasure." The handshake was firm- trustworthy. Although, both of them knew that their interiors were anything but.

* * *

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_The stag was breathing heavily in Will's ear, and it made the hairs on the back of his throat tingle and Goosebumps rise on his flesh. He was standing barefoot in the center of a snowy field- trees… they were so green… and they were everywhere. All around, surrounding Will and the stag like an audience. Fog danced across Will's face as the stag breathed, and he could feel his eyes getting heavy. He could hear snowflakes falling on the ground, sparking with the light of the moon. _

_He was staring into the trees, looking for something… anything. The trees revealed no secrets to him, and Will felt helpless. He felt like crying. He was so alone in the snow… and he was searching for anything that was remotely human. _

_And, as if announced, something began to walk toward him from the blackness of the trees. It was tall, black, and wonderful. Will felt so happy for just a moment- just a spark of happiness at the illusion that things were going to be okay. The being- it seemed to glide across the white field of snow- it was elegant, so beautiful…_

_When it got close, the being reached out his hand and pulled Will into a tender hug, as if it were a mother looking after her child. Will hugged back tightly, breathing in the rusty scent of the being. He didn't care. He knew who this was. He knew the scent, the movements, the silhouette… he knew who it was. And, just as he thought the face was going to be revealed to him-_

Will woke up. Soaked in sweat. He could still feel the hot, arid breath of the stag on his face, and he trembled, not wanting to turn around and search for the impending hallucination. Instead, he focused on looking at the alarm clock at the side of his bed. 3:13. Well. Slowly, ever so slowly, did he step out of bed. He felt sticky, wet, and unnerved.

What the hell had that dream meant? He peeled the shirt from his back, tossing it into the hamper and pulling another from one of the drawers in his dresser. His dogs were waking one by one, lifting their heads to watch as their master calmed from whatever anxious dream he was having. You see- that's why Will liked dogs so much. They lived in the now- anything that has happened has happened, and they could let go of it almost instantly. Unlike him. Hobbs was a constant voice in his ear, and Will despised it.

In a way, he envied the dogs, too- because dogs knew how to live life. Will only knew how to be useless.

He grit his teeth against the thought, closing his eyes and trying to think about anything he should do before the acceptable time to wake up.

He supposed his dogs needed food.


End file.
